


One Last Night

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Face the Raven ("sort of" SPOILERS for 9x10)<br/>The Doctor and Clara do their job as ever: aliens defeated, humans saved. But the Doctor feels something terrible is about to happen, and decides to have no more regrets.<br/>English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cappyforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cappyforever/gifts), [Naphta85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphta85/gifts).



What is not to like about a castle? The cold, for instance, or the emptiness of the air. Yet, the Doctor liked castles: big and full of secrets, staircases leading into corridors and hidden passages, mysteries and old guilts... Clara loved the way dust dances in the sunbeams, at sunset, and the everlasting sensation that all would be there even when she would dance in that ray of light. She was a teacher, after all.

The King of that castle was very pleased. The Doctor and Clara had saved them from what he thought were an army of infidels, but really were a bunch of alien warriors stranded on Earth and devoted to conquering everything they could.

Clara almost got hurt during combat. Not that the Doctor liked fighting, indeed he outsmarted them as usual, but during the final battle his companion went into the heat of combat with an axe, and she almost got injured. Luckily, only her frock was torn.

The King insisted, they had to accept and attend a feast in their honour. There would have been dances and music and food and games and... The Doctor was not very keen on it, but Clara seemed to like the idea so he stayed.

The feast was quite nice, in the end. The Doctor sat next to Clara, who was wearing the most beautiful frock. She looked the part, her eyes were luminous and her voice was pure music.

Of course, he was in love with her, even a blind man could see it, after getting to know them a bit. Was she in love with him? The courtesans had no doubts. They made all sort of remarks and wished them a long line of succession, a male heir, and that their many children could inherit his fierce strength, her lovely looks, the intelligence of them both and so on. He was embarrassed, she was amused.

She never asked him how Time Lords are born. She searched the library, and found that they did not need a reproductive system to breed, like Earth mammals did, but that they could, if they wanted. She never mentioned it to him, some of the awkwardness of his former self was still there to make him uncomfortable on this matters.

They sang songs. Clara had a pleasant but not very harmonic or musical voice, but the Queen and the princesses sang with her so she felt less incompetent. The Doctor, on the other hand, knew a lot of ballads about knights and dragon slayers, mostly out of time and space but in the end no one cared. He had a soft yet strange voice, alien to those human ears, but that reached their little, wonderful hearts. Clara felt her cheek flush and the end of his last song, since he caught her gaze. She smiled like nothing happened and invited him to dance. First, he declined, than she insisted, than she ordered him to come to the dance floor with her.

He had boasted he could dance, but she never believed him. His former self was a disaster, but she had never encountered the other Doctors, and “after more than two thousand years, even in that small town in Trenzalore, Clara, I might have improved my already good skills even further, thank you very much”.

Clap, step, turn, switch position, hold hands, turn again and back, starting again and turning around the hall. He was Elegance itself, she could almost not believe it. Smooth movements, perfect understanding of his surroundings... she felt like a princess.

Yet, by the end of that magical night, he seemed distant and melancholic. He looked older, or best he looked like someone who knew he had not much time left, and whose long years weighted on his shoulders.

She suggested to him to go and rest, maybe in the TARDIS if he needed, but the King caught her sweet and gentle whisper. No way, they were guests: the best chambers were ready for the night. Two rooms, next to each other and communicating by a big wooden door that could be locked.

A servant walked them to the rooms and left them. The moon was full and bright and the light reached them through long and thin windows.

She looked directly at him, while he was finding the floor very interesting. She got a step closer and caressed his cheek, forcing him to look at her. Those big sad eyes...

«Goodnight, Doctor. Thank you.» she said.

«F-for what?» he asked, and she got on her tiptoes to kiss him on the other cheek.

«For the lovely evening.» Clara explained and got inside his chamber.

He watched her disappear, and sighed. He had told her more than once that day that she was being too reckless. He had a duty of care, he said, but she replied she never asked for it. Of course she didn't, he thought, getting inside his chamber, and closing the door behind him, but he wanted that duty, he felt that duty. He loved her, and didn't want her to get hurt. She was only human, and humans are fragile things. Their souls are profound and deep as galaxies, their brain are fast as shooting stars, their hearts are full as volcanoes... and yet, weapons can hurt them and kill them. Risks can be taken, but to a degree. He knew, he remember Rory Pond telling him, people got reckless with him because they wanted to impress him. She had impressed him, even without risking her own life. He got to the communicating door and put his hands on it: it was not locked, he could tell. He did not use his sonic glasses, or she might have heard him.

He got away, rubbing his face and shaking it. What are you thinking? She doesn't want you. She may had, when you had no eyebrow and that stupid bow-tie, but now? You've seen Danny Pink, he may had been a PE teacher, but he had all the things in the right spot and the right way.

He found a mirror in the corner of the room. He got in front of it and started to undress. He took off his velvet jacket first: he liked it a lot, it was sharp and elegant. He bent down and unfastened his boots and took them away, together with his socks. He unbuttoned his trousers and took those off too, and slowly did the same with his shirt. Button by button, the mirror reflected more and more white translucent skin, until only his boxer – the black ones, not the question mark ones – were left. He stood there, examining his lean and skinny physique, and his fierce look.

Little did he know that Clara was in front of her mirror, in a wide, broad nightgown with nothing underneath, asking mostly the same questions: how could a little thing like her appeal to a two thousand years old alien?

The Doctor asked a servant for a bath. He needed to think and water may help in those cases. The water was warm, and he understood how lucky he was to have found such a rich and advanced court. He leaned down the wooden bathtub, thinking. He could see the past, the present, the future. He didn't want to see Clara's, he was afraid of what may occur to her, but he was not unaware or stupid. One more silly risk, one distraction on a dangerous mission, a moment to late and he would loose her. He felt it, he felt the inevitable crumple upon him like an avalanche. He stood up, wetting the floor around him, and got to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance and crackle, and closed his eyes. What if that was his last chance? She would be gone, one day or another, and the pain would be so piercing, devastating, painful that he would run and destroy and barely be able to breathe again at the mere thought of losing her. No regrets, Doctor, for once you could have no regrets.

He dressed up again, got to the door and then he stopped. Panic squeezed his hearts: what if she didn't want him, what if she rejected him? It was too daring, too risky... but he needed to try. Something inside him, like a beast or a lion, rumbled.

He knocked, and even through the door he heard her gasping.

«Y-yes? Doctor, is that you?» Clara's voice was nervous, not scared. She was never scared, and he felt even more resolute.

«It's me, Clara» he replied, in a low, warm voice.

He had permission to enter, he knew. He got in and saw her sat on the carpet in front of the big fireplace, at least 6 times bigger than her. He hair was loose and her dressing gown made her look even smaller. He got closer and sat next to her.

How beautiful she was. How brilliant, how splendid a soul was inhabiting that body.

«Clara...» he started, but forgot what to say. She looked at him, and smile.

«Jane was right, you know.» she said «Jane Austen. She says you're rubbish at expressing your true feelings. She thought I was not, but I am rubbish too, Doctor. We both read her novels but seem unable to follow the example.»

He turned to the flames.

«I know, though. I know what you would say if this was the last night we had... and I have a feeling this might be our last.» she continued. Clara had had that looming feeling over her heart, but forgot all anxiety by simply hearing the TARDIS and seeing him inviting her in.

«If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.» he quoted, but more relevantly and strongly than any true or fictional Mr Knightley could.

Her heart lost more than one bit.

«That counts for the both of us.»

He chuckled. She took his face, caressing both his cheeks with her thumbs. He put his hands on her right one, kissed it in a gentlemanly way and suddenly seemed not to know what to do.

«I'll be in charge, then.» she said, smiling. Her lips trembled for a second, as she was about to cry.

«You're the boss.» he replied, in nothing more than a whisper.

Her hands mirrored his movements before. She opened the jacket, and caressed his skin under it, over the shirt. She got rid of the velvet coat and started unbuttoning his shirt. His hearts were racing, she could feel it under her fingers when they reached his skin.

«Vastra accused me, when you regenerated, that I wanted you young again. But I didn't care. I didn't, I don't. I wanted my Doctor back, and I got you back.» she whispered. He said nothing, but she could see it all in his eyes. She explored every centimetre of his chest and shoulders, pulling his clothes off. Taking his trousers off, that was less smooth but they managed, with a couple of embarrassed smiles. He was naked, in the warm light of the fireplace: his hair looked like gold, rubies and fire, his eyes reflected the flames, and she felt suddenly unworthy. Control freak, bossy Clara became vulnerable. Pain was already lurking inside the Doctor's chest, like a worm deciding which way to go to get to the other side of the apple. She could break so easily... He wished she could be one of his kind, unstoppable as him, less breakable just like him... but he felt stupid one moment later: Clara was perfect as she was, faulted, small, vulnerable... human.

He opened her dressing gown, slowly and gently, releasing her shoulders and leaving her naked in front of him. She instinctively covered her breasts, but he took her pulses and hands, and looked at her like you look at a painting or a statue: she was a masterpiece.

She felt powerful again. His Clara was back, not fearless or reckless for once, but brave and strong as only she could be. She took the lead. She dragged him towards her, sitting on his lap there, on the carpet on the floor, her fingers through his curls, and started to kiss his lips. He hold her tight, almost as he wanted her to disappear in that embrace, and never leave him again. Their lips dances, their tongues tasted each other and intertwined, their hearts raced together like three strong drums, deafening them as their blood pumped so fast in their bodies and ears.

She turned in that embrace, her back against his chest. She turned only her head, searching lips with lips, blending her long brown locks with his silvery curls. Her right hand guided his down his stomach, guiding his erection inside her and the left one on her breasts. She slipped down and filled the room with a loud sigh, while he leaned down his head on her right shoulder, slightly biting it with a hoarse whisper. She didn't loose her control, not yet, though her head leaned backwards. She started to move, first slowly, showing him how it's done, then faster and faster, as their moans, as their breaths, until she came, and let him do the same only afterwards.

She then turned inside that embrace, chest against chest, her hands clinging to his back, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. His arms protected her like two wings of a bird conceal a smaller one, and he finally understood how that Love humans were so obsessed about can be so wonderful and terrible.

They both knew that was their last moment of eternity, and they clung onto it like there was no tomorrow, though Dawn was waking fast and cruel.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is all my friends fault. I hope they enjoy, I dedicate this to the (others) 12th Doctor's Companions!


End file.
